


5 people who taught Tim how to kill, and 1 who showed him

by Violet_Witch



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, AUish, Gen, Questioning Morality, dark fic sort of, his kids aren't as squeaky clean as bruce thinks, protective batfam, the no killing rule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Witch/pseuds/Violet_Witch
Summary: Basically what it says on the tin, really not as dark as it sounds. They just want him to be able to protect himself in any situation.





	5 people who taught Tim how to kill, and 1 who showed him

**Prelude**

The first time Tim got seriously injured in the field, it was unavoidable. Batman didn’t see it that way.

The Riddler’s bomb was set to go off any moment. Every clue they’d been working on for weeks led to the same place—but more than the logic of it, more than the puzzle, Tim could feel it in his _bones._ If they didn’t get there, people would die. 350 people by Tim’s most conservative estimate.

It was set to go off under an office building in a highly populated area and both members of the dynamic duo were en route. Only one problem, Tim had no chance of making it.

Funnily enough, it was a complete mistake that Riddler had gone after Robin and not Batman. Tim had half a mind to tell him that his informants sucked, but he was too busy trying desperately to stay alive.

If he called Batman now, Bruce could double back and get there in time to save him. Him, and not the 350 people pulling the night shift at the banking HQ on Main and 5th that was about to blow.

In the end, it wasn’t even that hard of a decision. Bruce called to check in, Tim told him everything was fine, Batman disarmed the bomb.

To his credit, Riddler decided to cut his losses. Batman’s sidekick was a suitable enough consolation prize.

Tim was in captivity for 3 days, 7 hours, and 34 minutes. He took five and a half beatings (did it still count if he passed out half way through?) several interrogation sessions that ranged from subtle to glaringly obtuse, a few idle attempts to sway him to the dark side, and a painful amount of time in the dark with nothing to think about except his ongoing 78 step plan for breaking into Fort Knox. When that got boring, he tried the Vatican Secret Archives.

Nothing the Riddler did to him held a candle to Bruce’s lecture when he woke up in a hospital bed.

If he had to guess, (it wasn’t a guess, he hacked the Batcomputer) it was easy to imagine what Bruce had added to Tim’s file after the incident: _Ruthless commitment to the cause. Lacks any strong sense of self preservation. Logical to the point of suicidal. Not fit for command or solo ops. **Liar.**_

To which Tim thought, _you bloody hypocrite._

It was the last part that really got him. _Liar_. Its inclusion was as good as an admission of guilt from Bruce. He felt guilty for not knowing that Tim was in danger and blamed himself for trusting Tim. The similarities between them were truly staggering sometimes.

It also wasn’t too terribly hard to follow Bruce’s line of thinking from _ruthless commitment_ to the sudden end in Tim’s deadly combat training. After all, they couldn’t have another Red Hood, could they.

**1\. Oracle**

It isn’t at all strange when Babs summons Tim to the clocktower.

He’s smart enough to know he’s the second best hacker in the Batclan, and besides that, he considers them friends. Visiting her on her home turf isn’t something that’s new to either of them.

It is, however, surprising when she isn’t wearing her usual work clothes as she waves him over to the computer, but a sports bra and sweats.

“Study. Learn. Adapt,” she says, pointing to the monitor before her.

Tim takes a seat and does as he’s told. It’s barely a minute before he sucks a sharp breath in and turns to look at Babs. Today her fiery red hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and her mouth is set in a more severe line than usual. This isn’t about hacking, and it’s certainly not a social call.

“What is this.” It’s not a question, because he knows the answer. He just doesn’t know how to ask the question that’s _really_ on his mind.

Babs’ jaw clenches impossibly tighter. “There are some things Bruce won’t teach you because he’s afraid you might find it logical to use them one day. I think that’s bullshit. If it’s really your life or theirs, I don’t give a fuck about Bruce’s one rule, you kill the fucker and you don’t look back.”

It says something about her control that Tim has never heard Babs curse twice in the same sentence until now. Still, he says mildly, “Batman deemed me unfit for this sort of training.”

 _“Batman,”_ Babs replies tersely, “is projecting because he never learned to deal with his issues.”

In another lifetime, one where Tim hasn’t been surrounded by death since the day he was born in Gotham General, he would have smiled. “Let’s get started.”

***

Tim has always considered himself a student of many masters.

His parents, of course, were the first. They taught him independence, compartmentalization, cold hard logic, and how to lie. From his maid he learned about the injustices of a cruel world on a kind soul, hard work, and how to get blood out of fine fabrics.

From Batman he learned self defense, detective skills, and how to make the criminal justice system work _for_ him instead of _despite_ him. He also learned about the Mission, but that wasn’t something he could put into words. Even Bruce’s attempts at articulation always fell short. They painted him as self righteous, arrogant, a mortal who thought he could walk among gods. Words could never do the Mission justice.

Lady Shiva taught him how to fight offensively, how to use his appearance to his advantage, and how to manipulate people with a doe eyed look and a child like grin.

Dick taught him about family, acrobatics, stretches that would stop him from getting sore or pulling a muscle, and about grief. Not in that order.

Steph taught him about the razor thin line between perseverance and stubbornness, how to fall in love so deeply it felt no less necessary than breathing, and what it felt like to lose that love.

Barbara taught him about computers, true strength—the kind no bullet could take away—and the power of information.

She also taught him how to kill a man with his bare hands. 

They didn’t talk about a situation where he might need to use that information, in fact they didn’t talk about it at all. Their lessons were devoid of any non essential chatter, and never brought up outside that two hours a week.

But she knew. And he knew.

He supposes that makes one more lesson he can mark up to Babs: how to keep a secret that weighs on your soul like iron shackles in the middle of an ocean. But then, maybe Tim had just been born with that knowledge.

**2\. Red Hood**

Perhaps it could be considered ironic that Batman had originally blacklisted Tim from learning deadly techniques to avoid another Red Hood, only for Jason himself to teach Tim how to shoot.

Sure, Bruce had taught him about guns. It was unavoidable when they were pointed at the duo every night. Tim knew how to assemble and disassemble a gun; he knew how to recognize what kind it was based on anything from the barrel to the bullet; he knew were he could buy one and how he would go about doing it such that the purchase was untraceable; he knew suppliers, manufacturers, and dealers; he knew first aid for a bullet wound and which spots were kill shots versus which ones were survivable.

All this, Batman had taught Tim because he had too.

Jason, on the other hand, took one look at Tim’s slight frame and decided he needed to know how to use a long range weapon.

He taught Tim about firing under pressure and firing at different targets that were varied distances away. Taught him about the best ways to hide a gun on your person and how much a human body could take before it bled out. He taught Tim how to make it look like an accident, a misfire or a shaky hand. He taught Tim how to switch out a rubber bullet for a real one in a way no one would notice until it was too late.

It gave them a chance to heal. High stakes brotherly bonding.

Another secret weighing on Tim’s soul seemed a small price to pay.

**3\. Robin**

When the Demon Brat arrived, Tim hated him instantly.

Then again, he had been trying to _kill_ Tim, so it was justified. Mostly.

It takes months for Tim to not only realize, but truly understand that the Gremlin’s ‘surprise attacks’ are no longer tests, but drills. It’s the only way Damian can show he cares. By making sure Tim won’t be the next Robin they have to bury. It’s depressing, yet almost sweet.

Once he understands that, it’s a natural progression for the surprise drills to turn into sparring matches, a learning experience for them both.

Damian is still trying hard to shake his own assassin training, but somehow it doesn’t surprise Tim when the Hobgoblin pushes a sharpened blade into his hands and begins silently demonstrating the most efficient way to dismember a man with it on a practice dummy.

It’s probably just a coincidence that Bruce is off world when they do it. Probably just a coincidence the sword fits in Tim’s hand perfectly, it’s length and size matching his own height and weight like a glove. Probably just a coincidence when it appears in Tim’s room after they’ve finished training.

It’s entirely intentional that they never speak of it again.

**4\. Superboy**

Tim thinks there’s nothing quite like the first day out of medical. He can’t remember the last time he was in an actual hospital (probably because he had a nasty concussion) but he’ll never get over the relief that comes with finally being released from Alfred’s constant care.

The first step outside under his own power and the feeling of the sun on his face for the first time in a week. Sure, every part of him aches and he’s not sure he could even lift his bo staff, let alone fight, but at least he’s not laying down anymore.

He’s not really surprised to find Kon waiting for him at the door, beaming smile on his face.

Tim doesn’t buy it for a second. Not when Kon’s brow is drawn like that and he can’t stop tapping his foot.

“Hey Timmy. Scared us shitless there for a while.” Kon’s voice seems too big somehow after a week of Alfred’s quiet clipped words. It’s strangely hoarse too.

Tim summons a lopsided grin, leaning on his good leg with only a mild flash of irritation at the crutches he still has to use. “Aw, didn’t know you cared.”

Pain flashes across Kon’s expression, but when it’s gone his whole demeanor is more relaxed. “Yeah, well, don’t do it again, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Kon’s never been good at hiding things from Tim, and it’s not hard to figure out how much he doesn’t like that answer. He wants to extract a promise from Tim, _force_ him to be safer, but Kon knows him better than that, so he drops it anyway.

They end up going for ice cream. Tim slips on a pair of shades, and Kon in his leather jacket with a t-shirt. Tim orders double mint chocolate chip on a cone, and Kon orders a Superman sundae with a shit eating grin.

As much as Tim gripes about what self respecting Gotham shops should and should not be allowed to serve, it’s kind of hilarious.

It never occurs to Tim that Kon is the one lulling him into a false sense of security until Kon carefully says, “So,” and then doesn’t add anything.

“What?” Tim asks distractedly, his attention still stuck on a drop of bright green ice cream that escaped the cone and is rolling down his knuckles.

“I was thinking-”

“Always dangerous,” Tim intejects more out of habit than anything.

Kon keeps going as if Tim hadn’t said anything. “You can’t actually kill me.”

 _That_ earns the entirety of Tim’s focus. “Excuse me?”

Kon puts up his hands placatingly (he’d already finished his ice cream minutes ago and Tim was tempted to ask where he’d put it that fast) and earnestly adds, “Okay, sure, if you had some kryptonite, but I mean in a straight up hand to hand combat fight. Blades can’t pierce my skin and you aren’t strong enough to break my neck or anything.”

Tim purses his lips, calculating odds and trying to judge Kon’s motivation for this conversation at the same time. Only after he’s carefully weighed each word does he respond, “Probably not, but making an assumption like that could get you killed. People can surprise you when they’re desperate.”

Kon winced, but forged ahead. “And fighting with an opponent is more helpful than a practice dummy, right?”

Now Tim is frowning in earnest. It seems like an oddly abrupt shift in subject unless Kon intends to connect those two dots somehow. “I guess, but it’s unrealistic to learn new moves with a sparring partner. Besides, practicing with a dummy is easier and safer.”

Nodding almost to himself, Kon bites his lip. “Right.” He doesn’t say anything.

Tim weighs the pros and cons of prompting him versus waiting him out. He decides to take a moment to get in a few more licks of ice cream and when Kon still hasn’t said anything else, he says, “Was there a point to that? Or are you already making plans for if you suddenly lose your powers. Have to admit, I’m not sure if I’ll be proud or horrified if you’ve picked up my ‘plan for all contingencies’ idiosyncrasy.”

Kon smiles weakly. “Not quite. Tim I think you should practice your hand to hand combat on me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. For one thing, we already spar all the time. For another, my combat skills are a little out of your league when it comes to hand to hand fighting techniques.”

“No—Tim,” Kon looks vaguely frustrated. It’s hard to tell if he’s frustrated with himself or Tim for not being able to read his mind. “ _You can’t kill me._ So logically, there are some… _specific_ moves that you could practice on me—and only me—instead of a dummy.” His eyes are wide and imploring.

Comprehension hits Tim like a dump truck. He carefully lowers his cone, scanning the area around them for anyone who could be listening in before patting his own clothes as if searching for his wallet while actually doing a bug check. You can never be to careful with Bruce as a mentor.

“What makes you think I know how to do that sort of thing?” he asks casually, not even looking at Kon.

Kon huffs with something like exasperation. “Because you’re Tim Drake and you know everything,” he says like it’s obvious. “But there’s a difference between _knowing_ and _being able to._ ”

Tim honestly isn’t sure how to feel about Kon’s faith in him, so instead he catches his friend’s eyes and studies them until he’s certain Kon won’t be able to lie to him. “Why are you offering to do this?”

It’s only because Tim’s looking so closely that he sees the sadness and pain there. “Because I can’t lose you.”

Tim’s breath hitches, then stops all together. He thinks about what it was like to watch Kon die. He thinks about what it did to him, how it broke him. How he’d do anything to stop it from happening again. _Anything._ Then he lets the breath out. “Batman can’t ever know.”

Kon nods immediately. “Of course.”

It’s impossible to know if that’s a promise Kon can really keep, but that’s okay. Tim’s good enough with secrets for the both of them, so he smiles softly and hopes this isn’t a mistake.

**5\. Batwoman**

Tim finds Batwoman in a little nook between Chinatown and 45th.

She’s sitting on the ledge, but she doesn’t look lost. Not like Tim does whenever he thinks too hard for too long. She looks… contemplative.

He sits beside her. Seconds stretch into minutes, which could have stretched into hours, but Kate breaks the silence. “I’ve read your old reports. You would have made the same decision.”

Tim’s not sure that he would, so he says nothing.

“You’ve made it before. You’ve chosen to sacrifice yourself for the cause. It’s the same principle. One life over many.”

Tim has in fact done that math before. “Sacrifice is not the same as killing.”

He expects her to talk about soldiers, and policemen and the medals they would be receiving for what she did tonight, but instead Kate asks, “Do you know why Batman never kills?”

“He wants to be better.”

“No.”

Philosophical debate has never been Tim’s strong suit, but he’s pretty sure some sort of justification is supposed to follow a statement like that, so he waits.

“Batman doesn’t kill because he’s afraid. If Bruce—” Tim notes the shift from his moniker to his name with somber understanding—“were to start killing, he’s scared he won’t be able to stop. His one rule is the only thing separating his mind from chaos, the only way he can keep himself on the side of the angels. He doesn’t trust himself with that temptation, so by default, he doesn’t trust those around him with it.”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Tim observes carefully.

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. My problems with Bruce are my own, and if I really cared about his opinion, I would have hung up my cowl years ago.”

Tim’s not sure he likes where this is going.

“Bruce is right to be afraid.” Tim knows this. He’s always known this. It’s the reason Batman needs a Robin and the reason Bruce would never pass a proper psych eval. He’s been mentally unstable for over twenty years, killing would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“However,” Kate goes on, “he isn’t right to make the choice for other people. Sometimes, killing is necessary and you won’t know until that moment whether you can do it or not. Batman can’t kill, but there might come a day when you have to decide if Red Robin can. Your answer might be different from Bruce’s.”

Robin can’t kill. It would break Bruce almost as much as Batman killing. Just look at Jason, he wasn’t even Robin when he started dropping bodies and it just about destroyed Bruce.

Then again, Red Robin was made to do the things Robin can’t.

**+1. Saviour**

On the bright side, Tim no longer has to worry that one day the title of Batman might fall to him.

It was never a serious concern. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when Cass, Dick, _and_ Damian were all better suited to it, (in that order) but it had always been a possibility that had weighed on him.

The truth is, despite there being at least three people ahead of him in line for the cowl, Tim’s used to doing things himself. He’s always done whatever he had to to protect Gotham. To protect Batman’s legacy. To protect his _family._ It’s not too much of a stretch to think that might one day extend to picking up the mantle himself.

That isn’t something he has to worry about anymore.

Not after his future self appeared wearing the cowl with two guns holstered at his hips and a belt full of all those contingency plans Tim had never dared to speak aloud. Not after he tried to _kill_ Kate.

No, it’s safe to say Tim is no longer a part of the line of succession. After, he left without a word to any of them.

What could he say? Apparently, he’s a killer—or at least, he will be. Might become. Whatever.

The worst part is, it isn’t even a foregin idea. In dark moments when his paranoia comes out in full force, he’s thought about all the paths that lay before him, and he’s never been totally certain he’ll have the strength to stay on the right one. Some days, it would just be so easy to actually _use_ the training that his family gave him _for protection_ and _in case of emergencies._

There’s a certain logic behind the use of lethal force that has always called to him in some way. Always compelled him to examine and re-examine his own morals until he wasn’t sure how many of them were him and how many were Bruce.

But that’s exactly why he never can. He’s seen now what killing would do to him, and he can’t ever let that happen. He doesn’t trust himself not to become a dictatorial sociopath.

Justify one death, and he could end up justifying them all.

He supposes this is his line in the sand. Not because Bruce forced it upon him, but because deep down it’s just not who he is. He’s not a killer.

It’s a strangely freeing realization.


End file.
